Courier's Log : Days of Wastes
by RinnKruskov
Summary: Courier's log on his adventures throughout Mojave Wasteland.
1. Chapter 1

**Novac, August 17th 2281:**

**Night**

Curses and malefaction. May robocops choke on poison cloud. Two thousand caps for entry into The Strip alone 'to ensure that visitors possess minimum amount of caps and reducing shady characters types for their own safety and convenience'. Two thousand caps must be sought out or claimed if one wishes to reach that son of a gun, Benny. Suppose the man who shot a Courier in the head would be sitting in his penthouse, sipping Sunny Sarsaparilla or cheap whiskey whilst shifting the Platinum Chip in his hand gleefuly.

Out of the two thousands, only half the required amount was collected after weeks of prospecting Mojave wasteland, killing Fiends high on chems, claiming criminals' bounty over the NCR outposts, running for Crimson Caravan, and selling weapons dead people left over the stores. Not counted are charity works done along Freeside, Julie Farkas and Arcade Gannon would approve, failed expedition to Sierra Madre, and utterly horrifying near death experience on approaching Boomer's Air Field.

Ah, Sierra Madre. Tomorrow. Eyes would not open another second.

A shot. Probably Boone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Novac, August 18th 2281 :**

**Early Morning**

Woke up to noisy morning. Manny Vargas literally banged my door before sunrise. A group of Legionaries spotted slowly approaching from the direction of Nelson. Suppose the outpost was obliterated as well. Boone ready inside Dinky's mouth while Vargas and I (also ED-E) made our preparation on another roofs. Three snipers and a robot against five Legion, shouldn't be too much of a problem.

Legion armor and weaponry does not fetch too much at the Gift Shop, but another hunded caps would be a welcome addition. Breakfast was free, courtesy of Novac for ridding them off Legions. The affair, however, was quiet. The ice between Vargas and Boone has not melted, if only the distance between them grew even more. Briscoe turned on the radio and somehow Mr. New Vegas had known about Novac's morning 'shooting practice'.

Boone asked me if I would enter the Strip soon and if I'd need assistance for ridding Benny for good, which I replied with somber expression. No caps no entry. With Vegas draining caps quicker than actually letting them out, caps are rather in a short supply lately.

More sleep is welcome. Ghost casino had drained my caps and spirit.

**Late Night**

Pre-war word for this situation would be ...jetlagged. Read people would fly in planes to another countries in the far far east beyond the ocean (what is ocean anyway?). The first hurdle of their journey would be adjusting their body clock with local time. Resulting with few days waking up in the middle of the night. In my case though, is over exposure to poison cloud and gambling in hologram managed casino.

Right. Sierra Madre. I owe this journal a whole lot of explaining to do. (note: give Elijah's holotape to Veronica next time I go to 188). Caught a broadcast on the juicy info on legendary casino. Even if there were no people it would still a virgin area in prospecting. In stead of caps, however, I was rewarded with my first exposure to poison cloud, explosive collar around my neck, and a mission impossible of a heist of the century. So the Brotherhood Elder claimed. He ended up locked inside the very vault itself. Hope he choked on the gold.

All of sudden the hatred towards the funny suited man sitting in one of the casinos in the strip didn't make sense anymore after brushing my arms against death for too many times. He probably had his reasons. Will listen to his exposition and decide if I would blast his head off afterwards. Probably. As the hatred was rooted deep inside my brain, no pun intended. The fire started burning every time I absent-mindedly touched the bullet wound on my head. It hurts.

Will check up on Boone for a while. Good night to my faraway bomb-married company: God/Dog merged personality, Christine, and Dean 'Dead' Domino you classhole. Wish you could have gone to Vegas instead.


	3. Chapter 3

**188 Trading Post, August 21st 2281**

**Noon**

It came to my attention that this month would be Legion's favorite month as it was named after a revered Caesar centuries ago. Or, rather forced his name into the stellar calendar and stealing a day from February. Prospecting around REPCONN HQ for sellable parts or units, sniping raiders on occasion, and killing a crazed Night Kin rampaging on local farmstead. Equipments and parts sold for a hefty amount at 188 trading post which drained quite quickly in exchange for bullets and other needs. Veronica had been quiet since Elijah's holotape reached her hands.

My bullet scar seemed to have become my apparent feature, eyes would set upon it more than often for my convenience. There's a hint of awe and respect in those eyes so I digress.

**Afternoon**

Chatted NCR soldiers the whole afternoon and listened to the radio. A broadcast came in. Opportunity.


	4. Chapter 4

**Novac, August 22nd 2281**

**Early Morning**

Another quiet breakfast at Briscoe's gift shop surrounded by dinky miniature and hard boiled sniper and grinning shopkeeper. Sausage party for farewell party…right. One need more buns in their life. Told them of Happy Trails expedition to New Canaan. Jed Masterson broadcasted his expedition through radio seeking for available caravan guards and other hardy types. Couriers needed. People with pip-boys are even welcomed warmly. Checked all that conditions. He'd accept me in a heartbeat. Remembered of the NCR deserters said they were going to New Canaan, probably will meet them again there.

Left ED-E in Boone's care. Wouldn't want her to suffer alien land where I would be not in the upper hands. Last fight with deathclaws almost claimed her rickety units. Bag full of supplies, filled stomach, and hip flask refilled with my favorite liquid, I departed Novac. Vargas' last comment before I departed was, 'thought you had liked Novac as a home, friend'. In a way, yes. Perhaps. After Benny.

**Old Mormon Fort, Night**

Decided to spend the night at old Mormon fort in Freeside. Another King paid me a visit and gave me few caps for my good deed. It was fine the first times, but now it became rather annoying. Thought I snuck my way in to the fort undetected. Damn.

Chatted up Gannon till late, or till an emergency came rushing in. The other doctors are either on patrol or a visit, so Gannon were the only one available for giving medication. A quick patch mended the poor beaten up gambler real quick. He had to stay for a few more days to recover though. Asked him where he got the whip mark, said it was from the ghoul cowboy at Atomic Wrangler. Damn…


	5. Chapter 5

**Northern Passage, August 23rd 2281**

**Noon**

Writing this journal whilst waiting for other prospective guards.

Jed had a little bit of problem with me being McLafferty's rising star. Hey, he was not in the rush of entering the Strip trying to track a man shooting him in the head. I told him I'm interested of visiting Utah again (again seemed to be the key word here, his eyes literally sparkled) he accepted me right away. Borrowing pre-war saying, my well maintained pip-boy was the strawberry on top.

With me joining in, Jed had found his little party had met his minimum requirement of caravan personnel. There were two of striking personality , Stella and Ricky. Personally, I like Stella. What's not to like? Girls with shotgun turns me on. Like Cass. Ricky on the other hand is a pro chem addict waving fake pip-boy who'd be better off scram. Then again, this trip might teach him something. Will probably pull a prank on him.

Jed's calling.

**Somewhere, Night**

Writing Masterson would be too long to be frequent in this journal. I'll just write him off as Jed. Not that I know anyone else named Jed.

Ricky's consuming chem somewhere in the shadows. Stella's chatting up the other girls. I'm stuck with Jed. He was telling me about Joshua Graham. I heard of him from soldiers back in Boulder City. Supposedly he led the Legion as Malpais Legate across the dam and literally entered a hole with fire in it. NCR blew the whole city. Casualties were high in the Legion's side. It wasn't the last time he had to deal with fire as Caesar decided he's a bad example of high ranking officer. He proceeded making the poor guy as an example of someone who failed Caesar's will. He was covered in pitch, lit on fire, and thrown into Grand Canyon. Kinky Caesar is kinky.


	6. Chapter 6

**Somewhere , August 25th 2281**

**Noon**

Goddamn, cliffs! Wind shrieking like banshee the whole day, trying to throw the caravan off into the dark abyss below. After Jed's story, I occasionally see fire burning inside the dark valleys. My mind's even trying to spook me off.

**Nowhere, Night**

Today was intense. Lunch break by the cliff ended up very dramatic with whirlwind and landslides involved. I could swear there were people watching though.

Jed continued his story from last night. The only story of him was the one I had heard from the west side of the river. Hence NCR version of Joshua Graham. Jed told me that the Legion slaves had been spreading stories of the Burned Man. A story of a bandaged man walking the wastes leaving Legion and raiders corpses behind. Apparently the poor sod had survived all that and returned to New Canaan. Either it's slaves ghost story or Malpais Legate really reached home. Personally I doubt the New Canaanites were willing to accept someone with that kind of war record.

Another fire burning in the distance. Better get to sleep. Too afraid to go on latrine break. Hope bladder doesn't break instead.


	7. Chapter 7

**A cliff, Lunch break, August 28th 2281**

**Noon**

Should arrive in Zion soon. I could use a proper bed. Proper bath. Did I see forest in the horizon?

**Afternoon**

God damn, forest so far eyes can see. Streams. Clear water? I thought we're going to find New Canaan not heaven. Better keep going, Ricky's at it again.

**Night**

Thrown Ricky's chems into the valley. Told him the wind blew his ration. Oooh, I lost karma.

* * *

**Angel Cave, August 31st 2281**

**Night**

_*in terrible handwriting* at-e m-y fi-rst fish today_

* * *

**Angel Cave, September 1st 2281**

**Night**

_*in different handwriting*_

_Volunteer whose name does not wish to be recorded wrote this journal instead of me, said he was impressed with my eagerness to record my experience. Apparently last night's effort with left hand left him in awe._

_Happy Trails Caravan managed to reach Zion without fail. No one was left behind nor thrown off the cliffs on the way. Only Ricky was seeing butterflies from lack of 'buffs'. Our welcoming committee was none other that the friendly neighbor White Legs tribe. Bastard shot my gun arm. Killed two tribal with my knife. When the fighting was over I realized I was the only caravan member left standing. Gunshot. Another party waited across the bridge. Suffice to say it was a long way down. Alas, I lived. With my blurred sight I trotted along the riverside, trying to avoid hails of bullets. Not that any would hit from that range._

_Saw another tribal wearing queer sports cap. Unlike the 'friendly new neighbor' he showed concern. Next thing I knew was darkness._


	8. Chapter 8

**Angel Cave, September 2nd 2281**

**Night**

_Another skirmish with the friendly neighbors last night, in which I could not participate. Left lying on the tribal stacks of leaf, straw, and leather bed. _

_Woke up in dark cave, with orange hue of bonfire light dancing around the damp walls. Stalactite and stalagmite decorated the cave along with tribal paintings depicting hunting effort.( Warned you I'm wordy) Familiar alien language buzzed in my ear. A tribal woman ,a familiar figure wearing queer sports hat, and a bandaged figure entered my blurry vision. Thought the slave ghost story actually came to life. (No offense)_

_Follows- Chalk, Dead Horse scout, the tribe in which I ended up with, had witnessed the slaughter of Happy Trails Caravan. He also saw my fight against the White Legs with only my left hand and a knife. Also saw me jumped off the bridge in order to escape the fine company. He found me limping along the river side before passing out. He brought me all the way into their camp and had me patched up. Last time this happened was when Victor brought me to with two bullets in my head. _

_While I was lost in Limbo, my savior returned to the caravan and managed to return with leftover loots. One of them was my beloved journal. My other equipments were taken, but eh, I'm glad I got away with my life. Seemed like I always passes out whenever I travel to a new place. _


End file.
